Ever since I can remember, I have been terrified of the basement. I know I know; this is common… but hear me out on this. My parent’s basement never seemed right, always giving off this odd vibe of being foreign, almost dangerous. There was a sleepover I had when I was little that solidified how otherworldly that basement truly was.

The year was 1992, my 10th birthday was fast approaching, and I decided to have a sleepover with my best friend to celebrate it. It was a Saturday night, and like any other little kid’s we stayed up late watching scary movies. One of the movies was titled, “Attack of The Killer Amoeba!” Which made us chuckle just from how silly the green Jell-O monster looked as it wiggled around.

“This is so dumb! Who would be scared of silly puddy?” I said as I rolled on the floor with laughter.

“It ate those people though! Getting eaten would be super scary!” My friend anxiously said as he hid under a blanket that draped over him like a hood.

“Doesn’t scare me at all! I’m not afraid of anything!” Confidence radiated from me as I bellowed this out while standing up on the couch.

“If you’re so tough, then I dare you to go sleep in the basement!” My friend shouted to me as he pointed to the basement door by the kitchen.

“Fine! I will! But you gotta keep a walkie-talkie with you so we can talk.” My response had a hint of hesitancy in it as I grabbed two walkie-talkie’s and handed one to my friend.

“Fine. Have fun down there! I hope you don’t get eaten!” Giggles erupted from my friend as he said this.

Walking up to the white basement door, I realized how little time I had spent in the basement. Upon turning the doorknob opening the entry way,...